


A New Shade of Red

by celestialskiff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, Diapers, M/M, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Thumb-sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Other people feel like this too, Harry thought. It isn't just me.</i> Warning: Contains rimming and lots of references to ageplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I wasn't able to find any Harry Potter ageplay fics out there, I thought I would write one of my own. This is a fairly gentle introduction to a fetish that squicks many people. Thoughts, comments or criticisms are welcome.

The word was in a text book in the pile next to Hermione's left elbow.

Harry discovered it one afternoon when he was watching her research. He was watching in a dazed sort of way: he had never felt a concentration like hers or a hunger for knowledge, and he was simply watching her movements, the energy of her scholarship, without making any attempt to participate. She had books spread out all over her dining room table, and was turning the pages of a wizarding text book from the 15th century, and cross-referencing that with a similar book from the 19th century, and comparing those with a modern book and a number of muggle psychology texts. Harry, exhausted just from watching her, idly picked up one of these.

It took him a few minutes to work out that it was mainly about sexuality. He looked at it with more interest then, though it was still rather dull. It contained various descriptions of sexual practices and some theories about them. He was amazed by how bland and clinical the book could make things that were, in practice, quite good fun.

“Not much good, that one,” Hermione said, glancing at it. She picked up another books from a seemingly endless pile behind her.

Harry nodded and made a non-committal sound, and continued to flick idly through it. He might have closed the book. He might have said he was going to help Ron with dinner. He might have done any number of things, but the chair was warm, and he kept turning the pages until he reached a section dedicated to fetishes, and found the word in it, the word that made him feel both infinitely better and infinitely worse about himself. _Infantalism._

The italics sprang up from the page. The neat muggle print seemed to squirm in front of his eyes. He gripped the book and read the word, and read the text underneath the word, and looked up guiltily at Hermione, who was still reading, and read the text again and again and again until he felt familiar with every comma and every verb ending. Then he put the book down, swallowing air that seemed too dry, and gripped the arms of the chair, watching Hermione, suddenly feeling horribly alert and strangely naked.

They ate dinner together. It was obvious that Ron's cooking had improved. The mash was lumpy, but the salmon was good, and all the while he tried to attend to their conversation. He was fairly certain that they were used to him being a little distant though, a little inclined to lapse into silence: they were more used to him than anyone else he knew. It was Remus who remarked on things like that.

Ron beat him far more rapidly at chess than usual that evening. He couldn't concentrate, and afterwards he made his excuses, bundling himself up in his winter robe. He'd flown out that morning because the day was warm, but the clouds were thick and low, making it perfect for a long flight, and because his muscles itched to be on the broom again. He flew back now, thought it had grown cold and damp, and Hermione kept suggesting he apparate, and streaked through the dark sky, cold moisture clinging to his face, repeating the word to himself over and over. _Infantalist. Infantalism. Infantalist. Infantalism._ He was full of a strange, anxious energy, and it was good to be out in the night, tasting the wide, wet sky all around him, and feeling free and entirely unlike a muggle.

*

Remus was asleep when he got home, head thrown back on the sofa, a glass of firewhisky resting precariously between his left hand and his knee. In the sky, it had felt entirely stupid to let himself get so anxious and worked up about what the book had so clearly said was just a sexual fetish, but in his living room he felt entirely too big and his thoughts seemed overwhelming once more.

A little, low fire had been lit in the grate, but it was enough to fill the room with warmth, and flickering shadows were cast on the wall above Remus's head, and his face and the exposed line of his throat were shaped with light. Even in the dimness, Harry could see how tired he looked. _You work too hard_ , he thought, and he also thought that he, Harry, didn't work hard enough, and felt a guilt so familiar it was almost comfortable.

Part of Harry desperately wanted to curl up on the sofa next to Remus and breath in the familiar smell of him, and nestle against his side. He thought Remus would probably stir, and put an arm around him, and go back to sleep. Harry thought he might like that, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He felt, still, too big for the room, and like he was entirely the wrong shape, and he left Remus to the fire and the warmth and went upstairs instead.

He sat on the floor next to their bed, and took an old journal out of a cupboard. If there had been a loose board in the floor of this room, he would almost certainly have hidden this journal under it, but there wasn't, so he made do with hiding it behind Hermione's spare copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. He didn't open it, but let it simply rest on his knees, tracing the fingers of his right hand over its familiar cover. Then in one swift movement, furtive as a child sneaking sweets in class, he lifted his left hand to his mouth and began to suck his thumb.

Sighing deeply through his nose, he felt himself begin to relax. He drew his knees up protectively against his chest, and hugged them with his free arm, slowly sucking the left thumb. He hadn't always done this: he didn't remember, as a child, ever feeling the desire to suck his thumb. It had come on when he was in school, somewhere between watching friends die and learning how to wank and staying up all night writing essays and playing too much Quidditch. He'd hidden it as he'd tried to hide so many other things, and he'd only done it when on his own, or when buried deeply under his bed covers. It filled him with more shame than such a small act seemed strictly to deserve, but it also soothed him and the desire to do it never seemed to go away.

He carefully opened the journal. It was a little over half full of bad drawings and rows of his small, somewhat crabbed handwriting. He glanced briefly at some of the pages and then left the book open on a clean sheet. Without looking up, he shuffled awkwardly through the papers and books and old wrappers on his side of the bed until he found a threadbare quill, and then, holding it slightly awkwardly in his right hand, the left still firmly in his mouth, he wrote one word. _Infantalism._ He looked at it for a moment, and then carefully drew a circle around it.

 _Muggles feel like this too_ , he wrote, but that didn't seem like enough. _Other people feel like this too. It isn't just me._

He was given to brevity. He read the three sentences, and though they said very little, they seemed to say enough, too. He closed the book carefully. His still felt anxious, his skin too small, but he did not feel as anxious. That was the magic of his thumb, or of being in his own room on his own, or of giving in a little to the things he wanted.

*

“You're thinking about how quiet I am, aren't you?” Harry said. His mouth felt slightly sticky and slightly stretched from sucking Remus off, but neither sensation was unpleasant. He lay on his side, his hand under his cheek. He felt like his thumb was obscenely close to his mouth, but of course that was remarkable to no one but Harry himself.

“I didn't like to say. I know it annoys you,” Remus said. Remus liked to hold Harry after sex, to press sweaty skin to sweaty skin, and Harry hated it. If he was going to hug anyone, it was when they had their clothes on and were preferably not in a bed.

He'd told Remus about his thoughts on the matter a number of times, and Remus had laughed too much, and said, “What's _wrong_ with you?” in quite an affectionate tone.

“It's not really a question I know how to answer,” Harry said now, stroking the bridge of his nose with one finger.

“Why you're quiet? That's all right. I don't mind if you're quiet,” Remus said.

“No. What's wrong with me? I don't know how to answer that,” Harry said.

“I didn't ask you,” Remus said. He touched Harry's arm lightly, and then put his hand back on his own side of the bed. “Most people don't understand what's wrong with them; or realise something is, if, indeed there is something wrong.”

“Right,” Harry said. _Infantalism,_ a cheery voice in his head said.

“Did you have a nice day?”

“Mm.” Harry rolled onto his back, resting the treacherous hand on his stomach. “I flew out, that was nice. Hermione seemed to be working hard, and Ron made dinner.”

“Ah. Was it awful?”

“It was better than anything you make,” Harry said.

“That isn't saying much, is it? You're far better at it than me.”

“I had a lot of practice,” Harry said. “Especially with bacon. I think I spent the first ten years of my life primarily frying bacon. I made a pretty good chocolate cake, too, hmm?”

“You did,” Remus said. “And you haven't stopped talking about it since.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“You look shattered,” Harry said. “You always do. Just go to sleep while you're still a bit dazed from coming and firewhiskey.”

“Don't you want to come?” Remus said. His eyes were open but it looked like it was taking considerable effort.

“Nah,” Harry said. “I'll just go to sleep too, if you are.”

“Hmm. This is the first time I've talked to you all day. You said, 'Hello, Remus' when I came into the bedroom, and then you sucked me off, and now we're going to sleep. Makes me feel like I'm just keeping you around because you're useful.”

“I'm not that useful. This bedroom is really messy. If I was useful I wouldn't go gadding off to see Ron and Hermione and leave the bedroom messy. Besides, don't you like it when I make you come?”

Remus murmured, “That wasn't the point,” but his eyes had closed, and from there the battle with sleep was entirely lost. Harry listened to his breath becoming slow and even, and then he got up to turn off the lights and put up the wards around the doors and windows.

When he got back into the bed, his side of it was cold, and he drew his knees up to his chest, turning away from Remus, and, breathing slowly to make sure Remus really was asleep, he slid his thumb back into his mouth. He wondered, idly, as he drifted off, if all the thumb-sucking made him better at giving blowjobs.

*

Harry worked at the weekends and some nights, engaged in the time-consuming and very physical task of protecting the vulnerable magical animals that were preyed on by wizards seeking some of their properties. He hadn't particularly sought the job, but he found the work, and the unusual hours, suited him well. He came home covered in mud to a Remus who only looked like he had stopped being tired by Sunday evening.

“You smell terrible,” Remus said, that Sunday, as Harry stood in the hall, taking his boots off. “I can smell you from here.”

“I know. I can't stand myself,” Harry said. He took his socks off and padded into the sitting room on feet that still felt dirty. Remus watched as he took his outer robes off, which were terribly stained and muddy, and then his trousers, and his shirt.

In his underwear, he looked thoughtfully at himself in the mirror above the fireplace. Other than his hair and his nails he no longer seemed so dirty, but he still felt sticky. “Should I keep going?”

“By all means,” Remus said. “But I'm not sure I want to touch you until you've washed.”

“You don't want the young, muscular man standing naked in your living room?” he said. “I can't blame you. I don't even want to tell you what I've touched, Remus.”

“What on earth were you doing? No; don't tell me. Just go and wash.”

In the shower, Harry had intended to think about Remus's skin and Remus's mouth, and warm hands on his cock, but somehow he was too tired, and the hot water drumming onto his back seemed to wash away any desire along with the dirt, and he found himself leaning against the wall and letting hot water run down his stomach as he thought soothingly about the things he knew he shouldn't think about—sucking his thumb, having Remus sing him a lullaby, wearing a nappy, hot and tight against his skin. He dipped into a favourite fantasy and then stuck his head back under the shower, trying to make it go away.

It didn't really make him aroused, but the thoughts were so compelling that it was like sexual desire. _Other people want this too_ , he thought, remembering the book. He wondered what it would be like to talk to them.

He thought perhaps Remus had wanted to have sex with him that evening, but after his shower Harry wrapped himself in an old dressing gown and said he was starving, so they ate dinner, and after that the mood seemed to have gone, so he went upstairs and took his journal out of his bedside cabinet and wrote down a few of the thoughts he'd had in the shower.

He was just getting fresh ink out when Remus came in and sat at the end of the bed. Harry's immediate instinct was to try and hide the book, but he suppressed it. He knew Remus wouldn't snatch it from him, or even ask what was in it.

“We're always awake at different times,” Remus said.

“Alert, anyway,” Harry said. He rested his hand on the surface of the book, palm down.

“Harry,” Remus said, and then he paused, biting the side of his lip. Harry, seeing his expression, developed a strong inkling of what he might be planning to say next, and tried to feel kind. Instead, something much more like anger swelled within him. Remus was saying,“Harry—if you're sick of this—of me—I'd understand.”

“Just because our jobs don't match up?” Harry said, looking at his hands.

“No. No, of course not,” Remus said. “Because you're so young and—”

“When are people going to stop holding being young against me?” Harry said. He tried to keep his voice even, but it shook slightly.

“Harry, you know that isn't what I mean.”

“No, I don't,” Harry said. His eyes felt sharp with tiredness and his pulse quickened. “I don't. We go through this all time. I want you. I love you. Now shut the fuck up.”

He paused, looking at his journal. It was red, and worn. He though perhaps Hermione had bought it for him, but he wasn't sure. “Remus,” he said. “If I'm unhappy about anything it's not about you, ok?”

He heard Remus sigh, and he looked up at him. Remus looked worn, in his way, but he also looked very vital. There was something about Remus, something about the way he carried himself, or the way he moved, that suggested strength, and wildness. It made him seem more youthful than he was, and enhanced his slight frame, and brought animation to his soft features.

“Are you unhappy about something?”

“I didn't say that,” Harry said; and he wasn't, not really. He wanted things he couldn't have, wanted things he was ashamed to want—that wasn't unhappiness, was it?

“You can talk to me about it. Anything,” Remus said, and gave Harry a certain worried look, that somehow always made him think of sheep dogs. It was the sort of look Molly Weasley used to give him when he mentioned the Dursleys. He didn't hate it—it didn't set his teeth on edge—but he wasn't entirely sure how to respond to it.

“I'm fine,” Harry said. “I'm not unhappy. I'm just tired. And, honestly, you should worry less.”

“OK,” Remus said, maintaining the look, and then stretched out on the bed next to Harry. He was lying down and Harry was sitting up, so Harry could see the crown of his head and the back of his neck. Even the back of his neck, Harry thought, looked worried.

Harry stroked it, and ran his fingers through Remus's hair. “It's getting long,” he said. His frustration had left him completely. He almost wished it had remained. He just felt tired.

“I don't mind,” Remus said.

“Don't start asking me if I want to leave you every week again. Don't start telling me I feel obliged to stay with you. I can make up my own mind.”

“I know.”

“Good,” Harry said. He felt strangely in charge of the situation, and he didn't like it. He wondered why he fantasised so much about being held, about being reassured, when it seemed that he, in his own clumsy way, did most of the holding, the reassuring.

*

No one had ever bought Harry toys when he was growing up, but he had often thought about what ones he would buy if he could. Dudley would drag Aunt Petunia into toy shops frequently, and Harry along with her, and while Dudley always wanted to look at games and toys guns and anything that made a lot of loud noises, Harry was instantly more attracted to the cuddly toys: the teddy bears, the rabbits with impossibly long ears, the lions with stringy manes and the elephants with the trunks that seemed too short. He always wanted one, but he'd never had one of his own.

He'd put the thoughts out of his mind as he got older, but they had gradually crept back in as a teenager and now as an adult he catalogued toys in his mind to help him go to sleep. He hadn't actually been in a toy shop for many years—he always told himself to stay away.

The resolution worked well until one day when he went to muggle London to meet Hermione, who was using a library there. He hadn't been there in several months, and he left the house early, because he appreciated having the time and the safety to go where he pleased and wander the streets as much as he liked. That morning he walked without purpose along Euston Road, and down the smaller streets that came off it.

He'd resisted toy shops before. When he came to the one on Judd Street, he'd used up all his willpower. He slipped in without breaking his stride, and then stood in the doorway, feeling almost overwhelmed. The place didn't have the noise or the tickling magical atmosphere of a wizarding shop, but it still held too much sound and colour, and was too full of things Harry longed to look at.

If he'd felt braver, he might have looked at the trains. If he'd felt calmer, the model soldiers and sailing ships he'd seen Dudley pick up so often might have been something of a draw, but as it was he walked straight to the selection of cuddly toys. And how many there were! In the many years since he'd last been in a toy shop, the array seemed to have changed. They were brighter colours, now, and made of different textures. Harry stared at them, biting his lip.

His arm sneaked out almost without his volition. He grabbed a medium-sized bunny from the display: she was a bright, Gryffindor red, and as soon as he picked her up he loved the feeling of her fur under his hand. It was softer than he had expected. It was infinitely softer than he had expected, and he stroked her, wanting to draw her closer to himself. He wanted to rub her against his cheek, but this was the wrong place for that.

He looked at her tag. It said “Jellycat” on it, which seemed silly to him. She wasn't a cat. She had the soft, long ears he had always wanted to touch before, but before even touching had been forbidden. Little boys didn't want bunnies, and Harry Potter wasn't allowed to want anything at all.

The bunny cost £11.50. He was sorting through his pockets before he knew what he was doing. He found a crumpled muggle note, a handful of change. His fingers shook as he gathered the cash, the bunny still held gently in his arms. He was expecting someone rip her from him, to crush her underfoot, to laugh. When no one did, it was a surprise. When the man behind the till sold her to him, did not tell him he was not allowed to buy her, showed no shock and said nothing other than a cheery, “Lovely day,” it, too, was a surprise.

Only when he was standing in the street, gripping a garish plastic bag too tightly, did he realise how fast his heart was beating. He stared at his purchase anxiously. The bag was too bright: everyone would know what he had done. He felt ashamed, and in the same moment, he felt a thrill of excitement. He could see, between the handles, a triangle of bright red fur. He'd wanted something like this, something to hold, for such a long time.

He shifted the bag between his hands, trying to decide which way to hold it to make it seem the most unobtrusive. He worried that the bunny was obvious. He tried to think of an excuse for having a rabbit at all. It was only after ten minutes of walking briskly down Judd Street that he realised he was going in entirely the wrong direction. Turning around, he hurried back the way he had come, the distance between himself and the library suddenly seeming far greater than he had anticipated.

His watch told him he was already five minutes late. By the time he got there, he was panting, and was no longer so keenly aware of the bag.

“There you are!” Hermione said. “I thought you'd got lost—but you aren't Ron, you ought to be able to find your way here without getting lost.”

“Hello,” Harry said. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right; we're not really in a rush. Do you want to get the books first, or go to lunch first? There's a great Turkish restaurant not too far from here, and I really fancy some börek. What do you think?”

Harry swallowed. She hadn't mentioned the bag at all. Now that he was standing still again, he was painfully aware of it.

“Well?” Hermione said. “Honestly, you're so vague sometimes. Let's do books first, then we can take as long as we like at lunch.”

It wasn't a bad afternoon. The library was quiet, but also busy, and purposeful, and the brisk whirr of photocopiers and the sound of books being opened and closed was soothing. In the restaurant, Harry relaxed as he spoke to Hermione. He almost forgot about the bunny, and when he remembered, and it wasn't just with anxiety, but also with excitement.

*  
At first he wasn't sure what to do with the bunny. Just holding her on his lap felt nice: he liked the shape of her, the texture of her fur. He slid his thumb into his mouth and began to examine her with his right hand. He liked her soft, long ears, and the shape of her small nose. Carefully he lifted her to his face, and ran one of the soft ears over his nose, and over his upper lip. There was something incredibly soothing about rubbing the soft fur over his skin like that, and he slipped into a sort of reverie, where he found he wasn't thinking about anything but the comfort of the bunny, and his thumb.

When he heard Remus apparate in downstairs, he stuffed the bunny quickly into his bedside cabinet, behind his journal, and behind _Hogwarts: A History_. His hand was still in there, trembling as he straightened the books, when Remus came into the room. He felt like Remus was going to demand to know what he was doing. Though it would have been completely out of character, he imagined Remus shouting at him, forcing him to throw away the rabbit.

Instead, Remus asked mildly how his day had been, and Harry closed the door with a shaky hand. He felt suddenly very grateful to Remus, for what he wasn't sure, and found himself clinging to Remus's lean body, and kissing his throat, his hands tangling in Remus's robes. Without speaking, he began tugging them away, and Remus helped him to undo them.

He paused, naked from the waist up, looking at Harry. Harry nipped at the junction between Remus's neck and his shoulder, at the soft skin below his ear, and pressed his palm against Remus's cock with one hand.

“Take everything off,” Harry said, and Remus did as he was asked. Harry could now kiss his chest and his torso and taste the scars on his skin, and suck his nipples and his hip-bone and finally his cock with a mouth that enjoyed sucking.

Remus breathed raggedly, and stroked Harry's hair as he sucked him. Harry tasted the saltiness of the cock, dribbles of pre-come and his own saliva trickling down the back of his throat and making the corners of his mouth sticky. Remus came rapidly, melting against the bedsheets, looking rather dazed, his face damp with sweat and lined with tiredness. Harry swallowed most of it, and kissed him with a mouth gritty with semen. After a moment, Remus groped for Harry's cock, and began to pull him off with strong, practised hands. Harry, too, came rapidly, surprising himself with the force of his orgasm, and then he curled next to Remus on the bed, allowing the unpleasant sensations of Remus's sweat and heat to sink into his skin. Part of him wanted to cling to Remus desperately, wanted to tell him how much he needed him, but he settled for lying next to him, and tasting Remus's come in his mouth.

*

He got back from work in the mid-afternoon a couple of days later. He didn't usually work on Wednesday mornings, but someone had been unavailable, so he'd taken their shift. He hurried up to their bedroom as soon as he got home: he'd been busy over the last couple of days, and he wanted a moment to hug his bunny again before Remus got back. He missed the sensation of her soft ears between his fingers.

Curling up on the bed, holding her, his thumb warm in his mouth, he didn't think at all about how tired he was. The soft fur against his cheek was so soothing. It felt too nice to stop right away. He definitely wasn't going to fall asleep, anyway.

He felt a hand in his hair. The fingers were gentle, and for a moment, he thought only that he liked the sensation. Then he realised that it was Remus, that his thumb was in his mouth, and that he had the bunny tucked under his chin, one of her ears squeezed in his right hand. He wasn't sure whether to freeze in place and pretend this wasn't happening, or whether to fight Remus off, or to try and explain.

Familiar Gryffindor bravery forced his eyes open. He jerked the thumb out of his mouth, blinking up at Remus.

“This is nice,” Remus said, gesturing to the bunny. “I haven't seen it before.”

Harry felt himself blushing horribly. He didn't know what to say. He gripped the ear tighter between his fingers and didn't move. There was no hiding it now.

“Does it have a name?” Remus said. His voice was gentle, and Harry wondered if he was mocking him. He shook his head.

“Maybe you should give it one,” Remus said. Then he smiled and added briskly, “Harry, don't look so tragic. If you want a rabbit, you can have a rabbit. If you want to suck your thumb you can do that too, you know. It isn't the end of the world.”

Harry swallowed. He wished he was dreaming. “I don't—I don't usually—”

“Of course you do,” Remus said. “I've lived with you for more than a year. You don't think I haven't ever woken up before you? You think I've never seen you whipping it out of your mouth as I come in the room?”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered. “I'm so embarrassed.”

Remus's fingers were gentle in his hair. “Don't be. Please. If I thought you'd like a hug, I'd give you one.”

“Your hand,” Harry said. “It's nice.” He loosened his grip on the ear slightly. It felt sweaty under his fingers.

“I know you're embarrassed. That's why I didn't say anything before. But really, it's nothing. Try to relax.” He felt Remus's fingers tracing over his skull.

Harry nodded, his throat dry. “Yeah. I usually consider you the anxious one.”

“There you go, then,” Remus said. He smiled his familiar smile. A small part of Harry examined it for mockery, and found none. “Really, I'm hardly likely to be pissed off with my nubile young boyfriend am I, just because he has a rabbit. Quite a cute one too. Did you chose Gryffindor red on purpose?”

“It just... She just appealed to me,” Harry said. He felt giddy with relief.

Remus smiled again. “Well, don't put her back in the cupboard. Do you want me to make dinner, or will you?”

“I think I'd better,” Harry said. He let Remus lead him downstairs, the bunny sitting neatly beside his pillow.

*

Years of hiding seemed to slip away with ease. It was nice to be able to cuddle the bunny at night, and to leave her tucked up in bed in the morning. It was even nicer to suck his thumb as he fell asleep. Best of all, he'd let his guard down once when he was sitting next to Remus on the sofa, and Remus had played with his hair idly will Harry sucked his thumb. It made him nervous, because he was still waiting for mockery that didn't come, but he had to admit to himself that it felt really good, too.

In the week since Remus had found him out, they'd had sex twice, had an argument about who'd forgotten to clean the ash out of the fire, and, though they rarely felt awake enough simultaneously, had managed to go out and see a friend. Harry examined it all for something unusual, something damning, and found nothing.

He found that he was sleeping a little better. It was easier to soothe himself back to sleep when he rubbed the bunny's soft ear against his cheek. He felt anxious, sometimes, that Remus knew about his other fantasies; and while perhaps Remus could be understanding about his bunny, or some thumb-sucking, he was sure Remus would be disgusted if he knew about the rest. After all, wanting to wear a nappy, or to be looked after, were hardly normal fantasies, and as long as he kept them within his head, he was sure he could lock them away from Remus.

He woke one Thursday to find Remus looking at him, his knee pressing against Harry's thigh. They rarely woke up together since Harry worked odd shifts and Reums worked on regular weekday hours, and Harry was surprised to see this wakeful Remus watching him. He slowly withdrew his thumb from his mouth: it still made him anxious to suck it when Remus was so clearly looking. The bunny was pressed in her familiar spot under his chin, one of her ears soft against his cheek.

“You're very cute, you know?” Remus said, softly.

“Is it early?” Harry asked.

“Yes; can't you tell by the light? It's just after five. I'm sorry if I woke you.”

“I don't think you did,” Harry said. “Do you have to leave soon?”

“Not until half past seven. I wish I could go back to sleep.”

“Oh. I'm sorry,” Harry said. He drew his knees up to his chest, dislodging Remus's from his thigh. He felt warm and sleepy, and only slightly embarrassed.

“Remus?” he said. “Do you want this bunny? She always makes me go to sleep.”

As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. He waited for Remus to laugh. “No, I think you should keep her,” was all Remus said. Then, “Have you really not given her a name yet?”

“Nah, she's just bunny,” Harry said. “She doesn't need a name.” He paused, and swallowed. The room was full of pale, early light that the thin curtains seemed only to dilute, and Remus looked both tired and handsome and terribly adult. “Are you.... Are you really all right with her—with me—with it being here?”

“Yes, Harry,” Remus said gently. “I don't know why you think I won't be. She's just a bunny.”

“I know,” Harry said. He bit a lip. The thing was, she was just a bunny, but at the same time she wasn't. He reached out and grabbed Remus's hand, his fingers encircling his wrist. “Er,” he said, “I need to go and take a piss, but when I come back will you fuck me? You haven't in ages and do you have time? I'd like you too.”

Remus grinned. For a second he looked rather wolfish. He cupped the back of Harry's neck in his hand and drew him to his mouth, crushing Harry's with his lips and his tongue. “Yes, I have time,” Remus said. “Go on.”

Harry stood up, feeling slightly dazed. When he came back, Remus has pushed the covers to the end of the bed, and his bunny was sitting neatly on the bedside table, underneath the lamp. Harry smiled. The room looked slightly distorted because he hadn't put on his glasses, but he could make out all the important things: Remus's shoulders. Remus's eyes. He slid his t-shirt over his head and said, “Take your clothes off.”

Remus pulled off his nightshirt. Harry would never have said it, but he thought Remus looked beautiful there, in the early glow, with morning light warming his pale skin, and making the hairs on his arms and thighs glisten. It illuminated the sagging stomach, too, and the slightly loose skin at his neck, but that had never made him less attractive to Harry.

They kissed slowly, sitting up on the bed, tasting each other's mouths and skin. Harry straddled Remus's lap. He could feel Remus's hard cock pressing against his own, feel the slickness of pre-come against his own dry skin. Remus was slow, nibbling his ear lobe, licking the underside of his jaw.

“Bite me, Remus, please,” Harry said, and he felt Remus's blunt teeth on the side of his neck, gentle but strong as they nipped at the soft flesh there, but never broke the skin. Harry gasped, shivering with pleasure, wishing he could ask Remus to bite him harder, and harder, and harder, but knowing it was impossible.

“I can taste your blood under my tongue,” Remus said, and kissed Harry's mouth thoroughly. “Can you taste it?”

Harry shook his head. He pressed closer to Remus, rubbing his cock against Remus's belly. “Fuck me,” he said, nudging Remus's cheek with his nose. He remembered when those words had made him blush, but they certainly didn't any longer.

“Lie on your side, then,” Remus said. “Pull your knees up.”

Harry didn't need to be told, but he liked to be. He lay on his side, his skin hot as Remus ran his fingertips down his spine. He closed his eyes, arching into Remus's touch, and felt Remus's mouth on the cleft of his arse. He shuddered, murmuring encouragement, as Remus's tongue, somehow both too hot and too wet but not at all objectionable, ran over his anus. This was not something he ever felt able to ask for, but he whimpered, eager.

It stopped too quickly, and he heard the faint pop as Remus pulled the stopper out of the bottle of lubricant. His cock throbbed against his stomach, and gripped it in one hand, not quite stroking it, but soothing its throbbing ache.

He felt fingers entering him, the familiar, tight stretch. Like the tongue, it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. He felt Remus's mouth against his ear, his neck. “Aren't you a good boy,” Remus said. He'd never said that before. Harry shivered.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Am I?”

“You are. You're a very good boy,” Remus said, and Harry moaned, startled by how loud the sound was.

“If I'm so good, fuck me,” he said, and felt Remus's hands on his hips, twisting him, readjusting the angle of his legs, before the hot, hard length of Remus's cock pressed against his anus and began to make its way inside. He gasped, the pain familiar, the stretch almost pleasant as he felt his body shifting, accommodating Remus.

“OK?” Remus said, hands tight on Harry's hips, one sliding round vaguely to brush over Harry's cock.

“Yes. Yes. More,” Harry said, and felt Remus shakily thrust inside him, and again, and again. He whimpered, trembling in Remus's arms, thrusting against his own hand and against Remus's as Remus fucked him.

He was so lost in sensation he almost didn't hear Remus murmuring against his skin, the words, “Good boy, beautiful boy,” lost in the heat and the sweat and the stretch of the moment, but when he understood it, he ached more acutely, and he thrust harder into their hands, whimpering and shivering and almost overwhelmed by the heat and the light and Remus's cock tight and too big and sore and delicious inside him.

Coming made him tremble more, his breath hot and harsh, and the sensations seemed to surge and surge through him even after he'd covered both their hands in semen.

Later, they lay side by side on the bed, the room warm with the sunlight. It was going to be a really lovely day. Harry knew the unpleasant parts of sex would catch up with him soon: the ache that would follow him all day, the semen and shit he would need to expel soon, but for now he felt good: wonderfully calm, and pleasantly sore.

“What do you have to do today?” he asked Remus. Their hands, now clean, were resting on top of one another's, though otherwise they lay apart, appreciating the cool air on their hot skin.

“Hmm. Lots of paperwork. Silly old laws that should have been rewritten centuries ago. I'm sure I'll get cross and shout at the nice girl just out of Hogwarts who's supposed to be helping me, or old Bernard, who says he's deaf in one ear, but I'm fairly certain it's both. Or maybe you've made me so relaxed I won't get angry at all.”

“That sounds busy,” Harry said. He couldn't really picture it. He'd never worked in an office. “I'll go in for you. You can stay here and do the things I do.”

“What do you do?” Remus asked.

“Terribly useful things,” Harry said. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Wouldn't I?”

“Definitely not.”

“Ah. Well I don't imagine I'd be very good at them, then. Perhaps you should stay here, and I should go to work.”

Harry rolled onto his back. “Seems sensible,” he said. He'd worked out, once, that he worked almost the same number of hours as Remus, just at different, and often unpredictable times, but despite that he still felt guilty that he was lying in bed when Remus had to go out.

He was not quite asleep but in a sort of stupor when Remus got up. He heard him moving around the house: the hiss of the shower, the sound of a kettle boiling, and of clothes being put on. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Remus came back into the room, dressed in his formal office robes.

He stroked Harry's hair back from his face. “Harry,” he said, “If there's anything you want, you know you can tell me, don't you?”

“Anything I want? Like the paper?” he said, being deliberately obtuse. “No thanks; it's full of rubbish anyway.”

“You know what I mean, Harry. Or I think you do. If you want anything... sexual, or maybe not so sexual, you can tell me about it. What do you think? I promise I won't laugh.”

Harry could see the bunny out of the corner of his eye. He swallowed.

“Think about it, all right?” Remus said, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair for a second, before standing up. “You can't say anything that would shock me. Honestly. I've lived with werewolves. And I think what you want is... Much nicer than that. Unless I'm very much mistaken.”

He was speaking in his slightly stilted way, which obscured how knowledgeable and how articulate he was by making him sound anxious. When he stood up, it was harder than usual to read his expression because Harry still wasn't wearing his glasses. He could picture the look though. He couldn't quite bring himself to say anything; he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, anyway.

“Have a good day,” he said, softly. “Don't get too frustrated.”

“I won't,” Remus said, and then Harry heard the robes swish past him, the door click shut, and he was alone with the smell of sex, the sunlight, and the thoughts in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

He thought he wanted to be alone, but he quickly discovered that he didn't. His thumb tasted sour in his mouth, and after he had washed and dressed and eaten, there seemed to be nothing left for him to do in the house. It was oppressive. He was too sore to fly, so he apparated to the house Ron and Hermione shared. He spent the rest of the morning talking to Ron about nothing important, and went, then, to work for a few hours, where he felt tired and distant, but found the physical work of putting up wards and searching for traps or injured animals both a distraction and a relief.

His head was full of Remus's words, but he hadn't thought how to respond to them, and he thought Remus would probably expect him to, somehow. He kept playing the words over in his head, wondering what Remus guessed, what Remus _knew_. He remembered the word from Hermione's book that had made everything even more confusing. Did Remus know that word too? Were Harry's feelings common, and he just didn't know?

He didn't think that could be true. No one remotely normal could possibly feel like he did. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind, and settled for searching for traps in the most dangerous of spots, such as at the edges of rivers and in the highest tree branches. Because of this, and he suspected because of his activities earlier that morning, he was aching in more places than he could count by the time his shift was over, but he still delayed going home. He took time signing off and writing his report; took time putting his gear away. When he realised he was considering cleaning his boots, he decided he had been cowardly enough, and gritted his teeth, and apparated back home.

Remus should have been home for about an hour. The house smelt like food, and the radio was playing softly. Harry swallowed, and went into the kitchen. Remus was standing in front of the sink, directing his wand at the plates and getting them to wash themselves one by one. Harry was sure Molly Weasely could have cast a charm that would make them wash all at once, but Remus wasn't particularly good at household charms. Harry came up behind him, and kissed the back of his neck.

“I ache all over,” Harry said, resting his head on Remus's shoulder.

“Do you? Do you want dinner?”

“Maybe. What is there?” Harry asked.

“I had egg and toast,” Remus said. “And also some cake.”

“Ugh, that's all wrong. How on earth have you survived on your own for this long?” Harry said. He was hungry, but not so hungry he had to eat right away. He set a pan of water on to boil. He liked it when the kitchen filled up with steam and long lines of moisture ran down the windows.

Remus sat at the table, stretching out his legs across the kitchen floor. He picked a banana out of the fruit bowl, inspected it closely, deemed it suitable, and slowly began to peel it.

“I didn't get at all frustrated with work today,” Remus said. “I'm going to be waking you up for sex every morning from now on.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said. “You don't even have to wake me up if it's inconvenient. What _is_ this song?”

“Not sure. It's a muggle radio station,” Remus said.

“Really? It sounds like something Mrs Weasley would listen to it.”

“Yes, I'm rather fascinated by it. I'm waiting to see how much worse it can get.”

“It's not that it's exactly unpleasant,” Harry said, tilting his head. “It sort of has a tune. It's just such a boring tune.”

“Mm. And the words don't make any sense,” Remus said. He was carefully slicing his banana into a bowl. He always ate them with sugar and cream, which, to Harry, who considered them perfectly decent food on their own, seemed a bit much.

He thought he could feel their morning conversation hanging in the air. He kept hoping both that Remus would bring it up, and that he would never mention it again. In fact Remus waited until Harry had made a bowl of pasta with tomato and sausage sauce and had taken his first hungry bite before he said, “About what I said earlier...”

Harry swallowed. He wondered if his appetite would disappear, but it didn't.

“Harry, I'm sorry if I misspoke earlier. I suppose I just—I worry that you're unhappy. That we rushed into this. That you feel trapped by me, or—”

“If you say I'm too young again I'm going to throw this plate of pasta at you,” Harry said. He suddenly felt much more calm. He wondered if Remus was really this anxious or if he was just awfully good at manipulating him.

Remus gave a brief laugh. “Well, I'm sorry again,” Remus said. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Harry looked down at his food. He fiddled with the pasta, moving around bits of cheese and bits of tomato. “Maybe,” he said.

The room was quiet. For the first time, Harry noticed Remus had switched off the radio. Water dripped from the tap. Harry bit his lip, waiting.

“Is it so hard for you to say?”

“I don't know,” Harry said. “I don't know what I want. It seems so stupid—even admitting that I want something feels like too much.”

“Do you want me to tell you what I think?” Remus asked.

“OK,” Harry said. He filled his mouth with pasta so he wouldn't have to say anything else.

“It isn't the rabbit that made me think about it. It's the fact that you hid the rabbit. It's the same with the way you suck your thumb. If you just did it absent-mindedly, or as you drifted off to sleep—like it was the leftover of a habit you had when you were little—I wouldn't have thought anything of it.” Remus paused. Harry knew he was looking at him, but he fixed his eyes on his plate.

“But you hide it, which makes me think you're ashamed of it,” Remus said. “And I thought maybe that was natural, too, that you were embarrassed by it. But when I saw you with that bunny—I wondered why you would buy it if you were so embarrassed? I thought you must want it very badly.

“And then I remembered you saying you were unhappy, and at the time I thought there were things you wanted that I couldn't give you. I kept thinking of all the ways you must find me wanting. And perhaps you do, but I started to think the thumb...and the bunny were all connected to this.”

Harry felt hot, exposed. He thought he had been so good at hiding this; at never revealing what he was feeling. He was scared to look at Remus. Remus had spoken in an even tone, indeed a kind tone, but Harry was still poised, waiting for the laughter, the mockery, the bunny to be crushed under a boot.

“Then I found this,” Remus said. “Under our bed.” And he withdrew a scrap of parhchment, which he slid across the table to Harry. Harry found there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he picked it up. He knew what it was as soon as he was it. He remembered writing it, once, towards the end of school. He thought it must have slipped out of his journal when he opened it. His small, untidy writing mocked him from the page.

 _Things I want  
-one of those blankets babies have, with the silky stuff around them   
-a soft toy (a bunny or an elephant or that little bear that used to be in the window of Toymaster)  
-nappies  
-bottle  
-soother?  
- ~~someone who wants to look after me~~ _

“I wrote this in school,” Harry said.

“Do you still want those things?”

Harry looked up, finally meeting Remus's eyes. He was sick of how much courage this took: that he could want something so stupid, that it could fill him with so much fear, and so much longing. He looked at Remus for too long, felt the air in the kitchen press against his ears, felt the food curdle in his stomach. In the end, defying the fear, the shame, he said it. “Yes.”

He waited. Remus stood up, and walked around the table. He put his hand on the top of Harry's head, and Harry leant over and rested his forehead against Remus's stomach. It was good to have an excuse not to meet Remus's eyes.

“All right,” Remus said. “It doesn't make me think any differently of you, Harry. Honestly. Some things make more sense now, that's all.”

Harry nodded, breathing in the feather-and-paper scent of Remus's robes.

“Come on, look up,” Remus said, and Harry tilted his head upwards slightly.

“If you want to do those things, that's fine with me,” Remus said. “If you want me to help... Well, I think I'd like that.”

“Why on earth are you being so understanding about this?” Harry asked.

“Because I want to make you happy. And because it's nowhere near as awful as you think it is, Harry. It's rather sweet, really.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He thought about it. He could probably live with _sweet_.

*

He hadn't expected Remus to take it as a shopping list, but he couldn't help but feel excited when he saw the bag waiting for him in the living room.

“You didn't have to,” he said, trying to conceal his longing to pick up the blue baby blanket Remus had bought with its soft silky edges and to try pressing it against his cheek.

“I wanted to,” Remus said. “It wasn't difficult. The nappies are wizarding ones, but most of the rest of it is muggle; I hope it's what you wanted.”

Harry felt a blush creeping across his face at the mention of the word _nappies_. He went over to the bag and carefully took the things out, sitting them neatly on the sofa. The blanket. A bottle. He left the pile of white nappies in the bottom of the bag.

“What do you want to do?” Remus asked.

Harry couldn't resist; he picked up the blanket and pressed it against his cheek. It was at least as soft as he had been expecting. He took one of the silky corners and ran it between his fingers. It gave him an immediate and surprising memory of doing this with a rough cotton blanket when he was a child, but it felt so much better than that.

“Mm,” he said thoughtfully. He felt a little lost. Remus was looking at him expectantly. He carefully put the bottle back in the bag on top of the nappies.

“Um. I think I just want this for now, and my bunny.” He looked over at Remus anxiously, wondering what he would say.

“That's fine,” Remus said. “You stay here—I'll get you your bunny.”

Harry carefully rubbed the blanket over his nose. He hadn't realised quite how much he had wanted this until he was holding it in his hands. He tucked his thumb into his mouth and rubbed one corner of the blanker rhythmically between his fingers, before bringing the rest up to his face. The action felt familiar to him, but the memory was so distant that he couldn't really place it.

He started when Remus came back into his room, and removed his thumb, but didn't let go of his blanket.

“Here,” Remus said, and gave him his bunny. Harry cradled her gently under one arm, and closed his eyes. He felt Remus sitting down next to him, and then Remus's arm around his shoulders.

“Is this all right?” Remus asked.

Harry nodded. He rested his head on Remus's chest. It was a slightly awkward angle, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He slid the thumb back into his mouth, went back to stroking the blanket. Part of him wanted to be alone with it, safe in bed where no one could see him, Harry, rubbing a child's security blanket over his nose, but Remus's warmth under his cheek, his hand on Harry's arm felt good too. He thought he'd never felt so anxious and so comfortable at the same time.

“Thank you for getting these things,” Harry said, taking the thumb out but not moving it far from his lips.

“It was fun. Do you like the colour of the blanket? It took me a while to choose.”

Harry nodded. “It feels nice.”

“You had a soother on your list too,” Remus said. “But I wasn't sure if you'd want one. Because you suck your thumb.”

“Um. I don't know,” Harry said. “You didn't have to get everything on that list... It was just something I wrote, in Hogwarts. I think I was trying to avoid revision.”

“Hmm. You wanted those things though, didn't you?”

It seemed like a rhetorical question. Harry curled closer to Remus, and put his thumb back in his mouth. He felt Remus's fingers gently smoothing and stroking his hair. He sighed, feeling himself relax. It seemed more and more likely that Remus didn't hate him, and it felt so good to hold the blanket and his bunny, to get lost in their softness.

“Remus,” he said softly, after a little while.

“Yes, Harry?” Remus's hand was in his hair, still. He liked the feeling of the soothing, skilful fingers almost as much as he liked the sensation of the thumb in his mouth. He wondered if Remus was bored, but it was a thought that was hard to hold on to.

“Do you really worry that I'm going to leave you?”

“Sometimes,” Remus said. “I worry that you feel trapped by me—you're so young and there are so many things you could do. Didn't you worry, too, about showing me this side of yourself?”

“Is it the same?” Harry asked. He felt Remus's hand on his forehead, smoothing his untidy hair up, then down.

“Something like it, I think,” Remus said. “I'm less worried, when you're here, like this.” He paused, then said, in a different tone, “Would you like me to read you a story?”

“A story?” Harry said.

“Yes, I got one when I was in Diagon Alley. It's about all sorts of magical animals and their adventures. What do you think?”

Harry thought about it, squeezing the bunny reassuringly. “I think I'd like that,” he said.

He felt Remus reaching around beside them, and the rustle of paper. He opened his eyes.

“You might want to sit up a bit, Harry,” Remus said. “I think it's got some rather exciting pictures, too.”

Harry sat up, the thumb still in his mouth, as Remus opened the book, and began to read.

*

Harry appreciated the blanket a lot. He appreciated being able to soothe himself to sleep with it, and having Remus treat him as if he was doing nothing peculiar or bad. It was more than he had ever really hoped for.

He wasn't sure if giving into these urges made him more relaxed or made him horny, but either way he found he wanted to have sex with Remus more and more often. They fucked in the early morning light several times, and he sucked Remus's cock in the evenings, the stretch and the salty taste of it both arousing and soothing him. Remus had him over the kitchen table one evening, hissing, “Good boy,” into his ears, and Harry almost came from that alone.

He found he liked to suck his thumb after sex, and Remus didn't seem to mind at all. He sometimes traced Harry's face with his fingertips, or touched the corners of his mouth while he sucked his thumb; and sometimes Harry woke to find Remus's eyes on him, on the bunny's soft ear against his cheek, on the folds of blue blanket.

“I read a word in a book, not long ago,” Harry said, one morning, early.

“Mm?” Remus said. “What word?” He looked both tired and sated, and Harry wished Remus could stay in bed all day, and he could start sucking Remus's cock any time he began to look alert.

“Infantalism,” Harry said, rubbing the silky smoothness of the blanket over the corner of his mouth.

“Ah,” Remus said. “Hadn't you head it before? Little infantalist.”

“Never,” Harry said. “I thought I was the only one.”

Remus rolled over, tugging Harry against his side, and though it usually made Harry feel overwhelmed and trapped, to be held by another warm body while he lay in bed, this time he allowed it anyway, found the bunny soothed him through the worst prickles of anxiety.

“You aren't,” Remus said. “I knew about it, before I met you. It's not so unusual.”

“I feel like—like I'm enough of a freak without adding this,” Harry said.

“You're not a freak,” Remus's voice was gentle. “You're not even particularly weird. _I'm_ much weirder than you.”

“You're a werewolf,” Harry said.

“Yes. And you want to wear nappies; so what?” Remus said.

Harry lay still, feeling stiff and vulnerable so close to Remus's body. He wanted to be on his own, perhaps with the bunny. Hearing Remus say that felt like too much.

Remus said, softly, “Don't you?” and Harry found himself nodding.

“It's not so bad, is it?” Remus said. “Don't you have fantasies about it?”

“Did you read my journal?” Harry said. He thought he might die right there if Remus said yes. Remus, of course, said no.

“I just thought you probably did, Harry—it would be natural.”

Harry nodded. “I do,” he said. He sat up, the closeness too oppressive, drawing the bunny and the blanket against his chest.

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

Harry moved his jaw. He thought about the things that had been filling his head for so long now: since he was thirteen, perhaps, or certainly not much older. Years and years of fantasies, sustaining him through sorrow, through fear, through orgasms.

“I—I imagine—” He paused, biting his lip. “I can't, Remus. It's too difficult.”

“All right,” Remus said. “Do you want me to tell you what I think?”

“What you think?”

“Mm,” Remus said. “I wonder what you imagine. I think it must be important to you, because you wouldn't put up with feeling embarrassed, if it wasn't. I wonder if you'd like me to put you in a nappy, or if you'd do it yourself. I wonder what you'd want to do next: would it arouse you? Or would you prefer just to wear it.”

He paused. Harry looked away from his hands, from his blanket, and looked at Remus. “I think you might prefer to just wear it,” Remus said. “I imagine you in it, maybe sitting next to me on the sofa. You'd be sucking your thumb, and have that little blanket. You'd feel cosy, I think, and a bit shy.”

When he stopped again, Harry willed him to keep talking. He met Remus's eyes, and nodded slightly. “Hmm,” Remus said. “I think you'd probably want to use it—wouldn't you? Maybe that desire embarrasses you the most. That's a shame, because I like the idea of you using it. I'm not—I'm not particularly aroused by urine, but I like the thought of you willingly loosing another aspect of control.” He paused. “I like it—the way you breathe when you really want to come. I wonder... I wonder what you'd look like when you wet yourself.”

Harry drew in a shaky breath. “Yes,” he said. “Remus, don't stop.”

“Well. I think I'd probably clean you up too, and put another one on you before you went to bed. Then you could lie in it all night—safe. Cocooned by it. Am I right? Am I getting this right?”

“Yes. Yes. I feel like you're seeing inside my head,” Harry said. “It almost scares me.” He felt very vulnerable, very exposed, and he wondered if Remus knew that. He also felt very good. He liked that Remus knew, and that Remus seemed to understand.

He lay back down, stretching out next to Remus. “You're a bit scary, you know that? You're not secretly doing legilimency, are you?”

“No; like I said, you're not the only infantalist. What you want isn't really that strange.”

Harry nodded. “I still feel strange. I'm... grateful, too, you know.”

Remus smiled. Harry settled closer to him, into his heat. “I'm glad I'm doing this right,” Remus said. He stroked Harry's bunny, resettling her in Harry's arms.

“I'm going to have to go soon,” Remus said.

“I wish you wouldn't,” Harry said suddenly. Then he laughed, and put his hand over his mouth.

“I'll be back before long,” Remus said. He kissed Harry, just next to his nose. “Good boy.”

*

He tried not to think about it, through that slow day at home, when he cooked lamb and puy lentil stew for himself, and for Remus, and when he read old books, and went upstairs to touch his blanket, and when he tried, and failed to sleep, in the warm husk of the afternoon.

Often, he complained about the night shifts, about wandering through noisy forests or in quiet mountains, searching for the glow of the tips of wands, waiting for claws in his back, or some poaching wizard's spell, but in fact most nights he loved it. He loved being on his own. He loved the smell of the air, the sense that it was just him and the night. He loved going over the defensive spells in his head, seeing the traces of magical creatures he had once read about. He loved the space of it all.

Even tonight, it cleared his head, though part of him longed to be at home with Remus. He got back, late and aching, a few minutes before Remus would have to apparate to work. He was standing in the kitchen, eating toast, and Harry kissed him vaguely, tasting crumbs and something sweet, before he struggled upstairs in the itchy morning light and collapsed into a stupor on his bed.

He woke several hours later, not feeling exactly rested, but certainly more alert, and knew that he wouldn't sleep any more no matter how he tried. His mouth tasted rough and bitter. He showered and then spread some think, green salve over the scratches on his arms and his throat. It smelt like coriander and chives, and his skin tingled pleasantly. He finally realised he was starving, and ate the rest of the lamb stew standing up in the kitchen, too hungry to even bother cutting bread.

Feeling both tired and restless at the same time, he read over some of the things he'd written in his journal. Once, even interacting with himself about these thoughts was better than interacting with no one, which was why he'd read it and written in it so much. Now he felt a little sad for the boy who had wanted this so desperately, and had felt so ashamed. He'd already lost some of the desperation, and some of the shame, and it did make everything ache less.

Looking at his small handwriting, he decided to be brave. He shut the book, and put it neatly beside the other books in the cupboard. Then he picked up his blanket and his bunny and brought them into the living room—something he was usually too embarrassed to do. He knew the bag with the nappies and the bottle was in one of the kitchen cupboards too, and he took it out and laid two nappies and the bottle out on the sofa beside the blanket. He picked up his bunny and held her comfortingly under his arm. There was something magical about the nappies, he could feel it as soon as he picked them up. They looked small, but he was sure they would grow to fit him. He wondered if they had other magic, too.

Taking his bunny with him, he went into the kitchen and prepared some things for dinner. He carefully set the table, something he rarely bothered to do. He glanced at his watch. It was still at least an two hours until Remus got home, and he didn't think he could be still, so he sat the bunny down in one of the empty places, and set about emptying and cleaning the kitchen cupboards.

He was still at it when Remus got home, dusting off old jars of potions ingredients and separating them from the spices.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully. “Why do we have so many jars of venom? We never make potions.”

“I always think I might take it up in my old age,” Remus said. “Are you cleaning? That's nice of you.”

“Mm. I just wanted to keep my hands busy,” Harry said.

“Is your bunny helping?”

Harry had almost forgotten about his plan. He flushed, but nodded. “Yep. She's telling me what I should keep and what I should throw out.”

“That's an important job for a small rabbit,” Remus said. “I hope she didn't tell you to throw that bezoar out—those aren't cheap.”

“It's no good any more,” Harry said. “Miles out of date.”

“Really?” Remus said. “I can never tell.” He moved to go upstairs, which would mean walking through the living room. Harry stopped him.

“Look, I put some things out in there. Earlier. But we don't have to do anything if you don't want to.”

Remus cupped Harry's cheek in his hand. “Did you? I'm glad. We can do whatever you like. I missed you yesterday, you know. I forgot you were working. I wanted to do it then.”

“I did, too.” Harry kissed Remus's cheek, and then his neck. “We can eat—you must be hungry—and then maybe, we can?”

“Yes,” Remus was smiling. He looked gentle, and pleased. The looked stopped Harry's heart from pounding quite so loudly. “I'd like that.”

*

Afterwards Harry could never put into words how good it felt, but it did feel good. He'd thought it would be embarrassing, or they'd get it wrong, but somehow it didn't go wrong.

They settled in the living room. Remus spread out one of the nappies on the sofa. Harry cuddled his blanket, feeling rather apprehensive.

“It'll grow to fit you,” Remus said.

“I thought so,” Harry said. He put his thumb into his mouth and sucked it, finding it soothed his nervousness.

“Do you want me to take your trousers off?”

“I'll do it,” Harry said. He undid them with one hand and they slid into a pile on the floor. Remus was still wearing his robes; he still looked official, and adult. Harry rather liked that. Standing half-naked in front of Remus didn't make him feel nervous. He'd been like that often. The nappy that lay beside them did.

“Let me...” Remus began, and picked it up. He lifted it to Harry's waist, and it grew easily, wrapping itself comfortably around his bum. The bulk of it was startling. Harry couldn't close his legs together. It was warm, and he was surprised to find the sensation slightly arousing.

Remus was looking at the nappy thoughtfully. “Do you know how I should fasten it?”

“Um. A safety pin, I think?”

“Oh yes!” Remus went into the kitchen, and came back a moment later with two large safety pins. They slid easily into the nappy, and almost seemed to do up themselves. Harry suspected some charms were involved. He stood there, feeling the bulk of the nappy, feeling the oddness of standing in his living room, with his hairy legs, sucking his thumb and trying not to feel that oddness.

“I don't know if your trousers will fit over it,” Remus said.

“I don't think I need trousers,” Harry said. He'd always imagined himself simply wearing a nappy, maybe with a t-shirt too. Remus looked surprised, so he said, “Unless you're inviting your colleagues round for a drink, of course.”

“No, not that,” Remus said. “How do you feel?”

“Bit strange. Not bad. Not as mortified as I thought I'd be,” Harry said. He sat awkwardly on the sofa, and then sprawled into the arm, making himself more comfortable. The nappy cushioned his movements, and made them more awkward. He picked up his blanket carefully, and his bunny. They both made him feel more at ease. He was surprised by how quickly he'd become accustomed to them.

Remus sat down next to him. “Do you want a story? Your bottle?”

Harry wasn't sure. He shifted, curling against Remus's side, something he rarely did without encouragement. Remus hugged him back. Harry could feel the itchy material of Remus's robes under his thigh, but it was warm night, and he wasn't cold. He flexed his toes.

“A story,” he said, indistinctly, around his thumb.

“A story,” Remus repeated, and got out a book. It wasn't the one he'd read before, it was a fresh one. Harry thought he must have got it specially, and he rather liked that. It was nice to imagine Remus in Flourish & Blotts picking out children's books for him. The wizarding pictures were much more vivid in colour and tone than their muggle counterparts, and they made dark forests look much more malevolent and wide seaside scenes brighter and more compelling. Of course, the movement helped too. Harry found himself fascinated by it in a way he hadn't been in years. He examined the pictures closely, sucking his thumb, pressed against Remus's warm side.

He felt very soothed when the story came to an end, and much more comfortable being here like this. He rested his head on Remus's lap, and felt Remus's hand stroking his hair again.

“How about a bottle?” Remus said. Harry was very glad Remus had asked. He nodded slowly. He realised he felt very sleepy, and thought that wasn't surprising. He was always shattered after a night shift. When Remus dislodged his head so he could stand up, Harry rested it on the sofa cushion, and he listened through a daze as Remus moved around the kitchen. He stroked the blanket's silky edge.

Remus came back in with the bottle, and Harry settled back with his head on Remus's lap. He felt safe, lying like this: it didn't give him the trapped feeling he so often got when he was hugged close. Remus held the bottle to Harry's lips and Harry started to suck. The nipple was much smaller than his thumb, and at first nothing seemed to come out: he could taste a faint sweetness and that was it. Gradually, his tongue seemed to find the right angle, and a thin stream trickled down his throat. It tasted sweet—pumpkin juice, he decided. He was glad Remus hadn't brought him milk.

He opened eyes he hadn't realised had been closed, and blinked up at Remus. He was surprised by the expression he found on Remus's face—he was still expecting him to look disgusted, but in fact Remus looked infinitely tender, and kind. Harry thought that it wasn't people's facial features that made them attractive so much as the expressions they had, and he loved what he saw now on Remus's face.

The juice slowly trickled down his throat. After a while, he had enough of it, enjoying the sensation of suckling more than the sticky drink itself. He sat up, dislodging the bottle.

“I'm sleepy,” he said. “I feel so... so soothed.”

“Good,” Remus said, putting the bottle carefully onto the floor. “Would you like to go to bed?”

“Not yet,” Harry said. He felt very comfortable on the sofa, and he wasn't ready to loose that to bed and possibly sleep quite yet. “You don't have to entertain me, though, or anything—I can look after myself.”

“I know,” Remus said. “I like doing it.”

Harry put his thumb back into his mouth. “Can I see the book again?”

“Of course.” Remus gave it to him, and Harry opened it, looking at the picture across the first two pages. “We should get you some more books,” Remus said.

Harry nodded. He removed his thumb. “I don't remember having books when I was little much, except the ones in school.”

Remus was quiet, and then he said, “Where they any good?”

“The school ones? They were OK. They weren't magical, like this—but the stories were good,” he said.

“Is there anything else you would like?” Remus asked.

“I don't know,” Harry said. “This all ready feels like quite a lot.”

“It's not much, really,” Remus said.

“I like them. My own bunny, my own blanket,” Harry said. It was still hard to say things like that, but it felt freeing too.

He settled against Remus's side, turning the pages of the book slowly. He felt too dazed to do much else. Remus watched him for a few minutes, and then took out the Daily Prophet crossword and started filling it in. It cheered tinnily when he got an answer right.

He let some time pass before he said, trying to keep his tone conversational, “So Remus...”

“Yes?”

“I'm going to have to piss eventually.”

Remus put down his pen. “Yes, I thought that was inevitable. Will it be soon?”

Harry chewed his lip. “Well I don't have to go really urgently. But I _do_ have to go.”

“Hmm,” Remus said. “You probably should, then. That's what it's for, isn't it?”

Harry nodded. He ducked his head. “It's so embarrassing. How can I, sitting next to you?”

“How is it different from when you use the loo when I'm in the shower?”

“I don't know. It is, though,” Harry said. “I'm here on the sofa, you know? And I'm sitting down. And I feel... weird.”

He shifted, moving away from the warmth of Remus's side. His feet were cold now, and he suddenly felt more awake.

“We can stop, if you want to,” Remus said. “But I think you might be sorry later.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I don't want to. I just...” He paused, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Try and relax,” Remus said. “Why don't you lie back?” His voice gentle. Harry did as he was told.

Remus placed the bunny in his arms, and gently ran the silky corner of the blanket over Harry's cheek. “That's nice,” Harry said. He squirmed, making himself more comfortable, and closed his eyes. He felt Remus rubbing the blanket back and forth, and then placing it gently in Harry's arms. Harry felt himself begin to drift. He was very tired, and the pressure in his bladder wasn't enough to make him cling to wakefulness.

He woke later, although he wasn't sure how much later it was. He was very aware of his bare feet now and the heat of the nappy. He squirmed, blinking. His mouth tasted tacky, and he need to go much more than he had earlier.

“How long've I been asleep?” he said. Remus was sipping a glass of firewhiskey and looked almost asleep himself.

“Not long. Three quarters of an hour, perhaps.”

Harry grunted, and rubbed his eyes. He wondered if he could release his bladder without Remus noticing. He rather liked the idea of it being a secret, the wet warmth soaking his crotch in their living room, with Remus calmly reading beside him. He felt a rush of arousal, though he didn't really start to get hard.

He put his thumb into his mouth, and relaxed his muscles. His bladder throbbed more urgently, but nothing was released. He squirmed, and pressed against it, trying to force the liquid out. He felt like the liquid was moving downwards, but not a drop came out.

“I really... I really need to piss now,” he said.

“So go,” Remus said. Harry appreciated the calmness of his voice.

“I can't; I've tried,” Harry said.

Remus closed his book and looked at him thoughtfully. “You don't usually piss lying down, do you?” he said.

Harry sat up. That was a good point.

“Why don't you stand up?” Remus said. Harry did; feeling shaky and nervous and full of the throb of his need to piss.

“I still feel weird,” he said. He was still holding his bunny, tucked under his arm. He'd been wanting to do this for such a long time: to find out how the wet heat would feel against his skin, to loose control, to feel a nappy swelling between his legs. It wasn't because it was such a strong revolt against adulthood, or it wasn't that for the most part; it was the same thing that drew him to the blanket, his thumb: it made him feel safe.

“Relax,” Remus said. “I won't look, if you don't want me too.”

Harry turned away slightly. He looked out the window, at their reflections in its dark surface. He pictured himself in front of the loo, calmly taking his penis out. He imagined the rush of release, his bladder emptying. He shifted. He really did have to go.

Relaxing, stroking the soft edge of the blanket, imagining the sound of a stream hitting porcelain, he felt the first spurt of hot liquid escape from his penis. He drew in his breath, willing it not to stop, and then felt a steady stream. He did not notice the wetness: it simply felt impossibly warm against his skin, and he could feel the nappy swelling between his legs, and forcing them further apart.

“It's... I'm doing it,” Harry said. Remus stood up behind Harry, and put his hands on Harry's shoulder. Harry leant back, relaxing into Remus's arms. It felt both very naughty and very good to be held by Remus while he did this. He thought he could hear a faint hiss. Remus kissed the top of his head.

“Are you still?” he asked.

“I'm... Just finishing,” Harry said. “I can't believe I did that in our living room.”

“Does it feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, it feels good,” Harry said. He turned, smiling, pressing into Remus's embrace. He felt Remus's hands on his back, and then he stiffened. “You're not disgusted, are you?”

“No. Not at all. I like how much you seem to like it,” Remus said.

“I do,” Harry said. He put his hand between his thighs, and felt the added bulk of the nappy there, its swell.

“Do you want me to change you?” Remus asked.

“No. I don't think so. Not yet,” Harry said. He worried, then, that this urge, too, was disgusting, but then he felt Remus reach down and squeeze the bulk of the nappy, in the place where it had swollen between his legs, and press it upwards, into Harry cock. Harry grunted faintly: that wet heat felt good.

He kissed Remus, then, without thinking about it, and Remus then eased him back onto the sofa and kept kissing him, his mouth much more gentle than usual, light on his mouth, his face, his collarbones. While he kissed him, he ran his hand back and forth over Harry's crotch until Harry felt like he was on the brink of coming, but he couldn't quite get enough friction, and then Remus pulled away, still infinitely gentle, looking at him flushed and warm, and Harry felt strangely content, despite his arousal. He could have asked Remus to continue, but he didn't, and it felt good not to, to let the attraction swell between them, but not break with the release of coming.

Harry curled up next to Remus again, resting his head on his lap, feeling hot and contented, and let Remus play with his hair, and then he sat back up, and met Remus's eyes, and said, “Enough for now.”

Remus nodded, and waited patiently on the sofa while Harry gathered up his things, and made his way upstairs.

*

The weather had turned by the next day, and Harry woke to the sound of rain on the window pains. Remus was still sleeping, curled on his side, his mouth open. Harry went into the hall, the wooden floor boards cool under his feet, and looked out the window there over their unkempt garden, and the neat muggle roofs around them, and wild, grey sky. Most wizards did not have to experience the elements if they did not want to, could cocoon themselves with spells, or simply apparate from place to place; however most wizards did want to smell the wind and feel the rain on their faces. Harry thought, later, he might go out and fly in this, and feel both wet to the bone and entirely himself in the restless sky. If it kept up, work that night would be miserable, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.

He'd showered the night before, after he'd removed the nappy, and he felt warm and clean, his hair, having dried on the pillow, sticking up more than ever. The house, creaking in the wind, made him think of a ship at sea. He turned, and stood in the bedroom doorway, listening to Remus snoring faintly. The bed clothes were rumpled, and the red bunny had migrated to Remus's side of the bed, one of her ears on his pillow. Suddenly Remus's alarm clock gave its familiar bang and told him shrilly to get out of bed right away. Harry smiled, looking at Remus blinking sleepily, and went downstairs.

There were eggs in the fridge, and bacon, and he started to heat the frying pan. When Remus came in the bacon was sizzling, and he exclaimed cheerfully over it. They ate quietly, listening to the rain on the windows and the howls of wind down the chimney.

“We can play again, you know,” Remus said before he left. “Whenever you like.”

“I know,” Harry said. He kissed him as they stood by the cooker, and Harry could smell bacon in the air, and taste it in Remus's mouth. It was rather pleasant. “We can do whatever we like.”


End file.
